World Gone to the Wolves
by asil
Summary: Chris has a plan to save the world; it is not a terribly elaborate plan, sometimes it is best to keep things simple. He knows that complications are inevitable but he never anticipated his brother's arrival. Except it isn't Wyatt, or at least not an incarnation that Chris is familiar with.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One

"How long did you torture Bianca?"

Meaningless words pierce through the muddle that is Wyatt's mind. He struggles awake, fighting the grogginess that clings to him; the effects of the spell, or drug, wear off slowly. Sleep beckons but he shrugs away from oblivion and forces his brain to make sense of the question that lingers in the air.

"What?!" He opens his eyes and then slams them shut with a groan. The fist-sized crystals arranged around his prone body are glowing far too brightly. Now that he is fully conscious, he hurts, all over. His limbs are not sore like he overexerted himself but feel like he was rammed by a bulldozer. Or a bus. Wyatt vaguely remembers a bus.

"She wouldn't have told you my plans, not willingly. How long did you torture her?"

Recalling the events that brought him here seems like a Herculean feat for his throbbing head. He came to the past looking for Chris, not _his_ Chris but the one from an alternative, horrible timeline. Then he found Chris, and then….and then. He raises his head from the concrete floor and squints over to where his brother is standing. "Did you push me in front of a double-decker?"

A scowl crosses the younger Halliwell's face as he stalks across the floor of the warehouse and halts at the edge of the magical cage. "How long did you torture Bianca?" He repeats, enunciating each word slowly.

"I didn't."

Chris glares and crouches down. His hand twitches towards the closest quartz, fingers grazing the white surface in a deliberate threat. Once more, the question is asked. "How long?"

Wyatt has interrogated enough demons to know what will happen if that rock is moved more than an inch to the side. He ignores the protests of his body as he sits up. "I don't know any Bianca," he says, urgent and earnest. "I swear! Chris, look at me."

Green eyes meet his.

"It worked. Alright? Your plan to change the past worked."

Quartz crystals flare. The white bars of the cage bend inward and writhe, tendrils of light twisting and clawing toward the captive witch. Wyatt ducks down, crouching futilely away from the brightness and the pain it will bring.

There is a scraping against the concrete as Chris replaces the crystal, the bars of the cage return to position without so much as singeing Wyatt. A snarl has transformed Chris's face into an expression that is entirely alien. "Stop lying."

Wyatt coughs and mentally adds a sore throat to his list of injuries. "I'm not." He sits up again, eyeing Chris's hand as it twitches once more towards the crystal. No, not twitches. The hand is trembling, fingers wracked by minute tremors. His gaze shoots up and he studies his brother, concern mounting as he looks past the stony expression.

Chris's lips are a grim line drawn against ashy skin. His cheeks are sunken, not dramatically, but enough that Wyatt can spot the beginnings of bruising beneath his eyes. He has not slept recently, or if he did it was not restful. He also has not been eating. The long sleeved shirt that hangs on his frame does little to hide that he is not just lean, but dangerously thin.

"I only arrived here yesterday." The younger witch-whiteligher is stating. "I haven't changed anything yet, I haven't even approached the Charmed Ones."

Yesterday?

In between tracking his brother's magical signature, finding the wayward witch-whitelighter, and being telekinetically shoved in front of a double-decker bus Wyatt had no chance to realize how off the date was. "I meant to arrive some time after the aunts and…everyone knew who you were." He says, "I don't know why the portal brought me to here, now."

The grays and greens of Chris's eyes churn and froth like the sea before a storm, stirred up by disbelief, annoyance, and no small amount of anger. He rises and paces away from the cage. When he turns back his emotions are better controlled. "I have no intention of telling them my true identity." He says.

Wyatt scoffs and then winces because scoffing is not good for his ribs right now. "Yeah, well, they are Halliwells." He points out and watches as a startled smirk crosses his younger brother's face, they are both well aware of how persistent and inquisitive the family can be. "Chris, I swear to you, I'm not the Wyatt you grew up with." An idea strikes him and he shoots to his feet. "You can test it." Wyatt offers and wobbles as pain twinges up his thigh. "Look into my mind. Our bond, I can't lie through-."

"You severed that, years ago." Chris states. The return of his scowl does little to hide the echo of hurt in his eyes.

Wyatt swallows the denial that forms automatically. He has only a vague notion of how evil he was in the alternate future. His parents and aunts shared what they knew, but it wasn't much. It is beyond horrifying to think that any incarnation of himself would intentionally damage the connection that he had felt and nurtured before his brother was even out of their mother's womb. Beyond horrifying and wrong, because… "Why can I still feel you then?"

Chris looks at him sharply.

"Reach out Chris." He insists, mentally prodding at the connection between them.

Any other time it might strike him as funny to see his brother shrink away from someone who is trapped and effectively incapable of doing harm. "Chris please. I won't," he pauses, rewords things and puts as much reassurance in his voice as possible. "I could never hurt you."

That, apparently, is the exact wrong thing to say.

"You could never hurt me?" The brittleness in Chris's eyes evaporates as he strides back over to the cage, reaches up, and stretches down the collar of his shirt. Scars, jagged and stark white against his pale skin, peak out from beneath the fabric. "These say otherwise." He straightens and spins on his heel.

"Chris wait!" Wyatt calls but the other doesn't look back, doesn't slow, "Wait!" The Twice-Blessed resists the urge to throw himself against the cage, make the magic submit to him, and race after his younger brother. This is not how things were supposed to go. Chris is supposed to listen and believe, he is supposed to let Wyatt save him.

* * *

This is not how things were supposed to go.

Chris flees the warehouse. On foot because he hasn't the concentration to orb right now. Panic and rage work together to spur his heart until it is galloping in his chest. His lungs beg for him to breathe deep but all he can manage are shallow sips of air that hiss through clenched teeth. Fisted hands tremble as he wrestles with the frenetic emotions. He is not going to have a panic attack here, not when the Lord Wyatt is just inside

A laugh chokes him for an instant as he remembers that his brother was also around the last time he was overwhelmed by panic. Then the hysteria is pushed aside by anger because Wyatt is not supposed to be here!

'Of course Wyatt is here.' He sneers silently to himself and another wave of fury slams through him as he notes that his mental voice sounds an awful lot like Leo. The Honorable Elder was against his plan from the start, not that Chris bothered to tell him the entire plan. He harped about the improbability of success, criticizing the endeavor as a fool's errand.

"Well, you're right again. I am a fool." Chris snarks as he casts his olive-toned eyes skyward, careful not to focus his words at anything in particular; his bad day will only get worse if the present, younger version of his father hears his griping and comes to investigate. "Hope that makes you happy."

The panic is fading to a manageable level and he reins in his heartbeat, forcing it to a more sedate pace. Anger remains but Chris pushes that down into the recesses of his mind. Unlike some of his family he will not be ruled by his temper.

Wyatt is not supposed to be here. But he is and Chris has to deal with that problem. A part of him wants to leave his brother in the cage. The Twice-Blessed has the power to break free, but it will take days, days that the younger witch-whitelighter could spend going deep into hiding.

"If only I were that much of a coward." Chris mutters. Running away is not an option. He won't abandon the world to the mercies of a tyrant who holds knowledge of the future and he can't let the question of Bianca's fate go unanswered. He has to go back inside and face his brother but, a sigh gusts from him, just not yet.

Chris closes his eyes, calls up the image of his destination, and disappears in a spiraling spray of blue.

* * *

The wait gives Wyatt time to assess the situation. Slouching on the concrete he looks over his injuries and finds them not as bad as he first suspected. It is puzzling that there are no broken bones. Being plowed over by a bus should leave more than a few vivid bruises. He lifts his shirt and winces as he pokes at his ribs. It hurts to breathe deeply yet his questing fingers find no fractures.

For an instant he wonders if this version of his brother has managed to master healing, then he shakes his head. Aunt Phoebe was quite clear about Chris's lack of skills in that regard and besides, pain doesn't linger after a whitelighter heals something. It does linger after some other methods of healing however.

He rubs his fingers across the bruised skin and then brings them to his nose. The smells are faint and it takes him a moment to identify eucalyptus and spearmint. There is some citrusy scent mixed in as well but Wyatt can't place a name to it.

Unsanctioned magic. Wyatt laughs and then winces as his unbroken ribs ache. His brother used unsanctioned magic to heal him. Why the hell didn't anyone tell him that this Chris dabbles in arts the Elders forbade long ago?

The answer rises in his mind, because they didn't know. Chris told them the bare minimum to ensure that his mission succeeded and nothing more than that. There is any number of other secrets that Chris could have kept from the Charmed Ones.

Wyatt is sitting lotus position and still evaluating what that new information means for him and his own mission into the past when Chris returns.

He looks better, or at least less haggard, as he tosses a paper bag at Wyatt. The bars of the cage wobble as it passes through them, and then straighten again. "Eat."

"What is it?" Wyatt pokes suspiciously at the bag.

"Food."

With a snort at the succinct answer he pulls open the paper sack. Standard fare, fast-food. Wyatt can't help the face he makes; he has been spoiled by home-cooking. His stomach informs him that he is too picky and that it wants fries now. "What about you?" He asks as he digs in.

"What about me?"

"Did you eat?"

The expression on Chris's face is jarringly familiar, even if it is out of place. Typically it takes more than a simple inquiry for him to look at Wyatt like he is wondering about the older Halliwell's sanity.

Wyatt meets his gaze, trying to suss out why his brother is thrown by the question.

Chris shakes himself and paces across the warehouse floor. Bewilderment fades from his face, replaced by hard lines. "You would never have come here without some sort of insurance." He states when he returns his attention to his brother. "Who did you capture?"

No answer is forthcoming from the captive inside the cage.

"Is it one of the cousins? It's not just Bianca, you would never think she was enough. You would-"

"Stop telling me what I 'would' do!" Wyatt protests.

Chris ignores the interruption. "Did you find P.J.?" He demands. Frustration and worry bleed into his voice and he scrapes his fingers through his hair. "God, I told her to be careful with her raids."'

"I don't have _insurance_." Wyatt says, shuddering in revulsion at the thought of any family member being used for that purpose.

A snort of angry disbelief sounds from Chris's side of the cage.

"I don't." Wyatt reiterates and then sighs because his words clearly aren't getting through. "Did the titans happen already?" He asks, changing tactics entirely. "The aunts said you showed up while the titans were rampaging, all white knight like."

His brother is still seething, but now something curious is glimmering in his eyes. "That's when I plan to approach them," he admits.

Why didn't anyone in the family realize that Chris had arrived early and planned things out? Wyatt wonders as he studies the younger Witch-Whitelighter. "When is now anyways?" He asks. It certainly isn't the time he was aiming for, that's for sure.

"You'll be born in less than a month." His brother says after a moment of contemplative silence.

The surreal nature of their situation pulls a smile across Wyatt's face. "That is so bizarre. I'm not alive, and yet here I am."

Chris chuckles along with him, and then forces himself to straighten up with a visible shudder. "Stop that." He says, agitated by the rapport that still springs up between them after so many years of being enemies.

"Stop what?"

"You can't just talk to me like you're not Lord Wyatt."

He stares through the bars of the cage, taking in Chris's rigid posture. Then he says, solemnly, "I am not Lord Wyatt."

"Stop it!" Chris snaps.

The older Halliwell falls silent with a heavy sigh. Logically, he knows that he isn't the same person that caused his brother's pain, but he cannot stop guilt from griping at his chest as he watches his brother struggle. It literally hurts to see Chris so broken and exhausted.

Wyatt lets his eyes fall closed, blocking out the upsetting image but unable to ignore the whispers that echo through their bond. He reaches out, mentally following the gossamer thread that unites them. Exhaustion is a weak word for the fatigue that shadows Chris's mind. The other emotions he can sense are erratic, shifting too quickly for Wyatt to name them.

"Get out of my head!"

Eyes jolt open, not so much because of the snarled words but because of the fury that roars from his brother's mind.

Chris surges over to the cage.

* * *

The edges of quartz bite his palm as his fingers wrap around it. All he has to do is move it an inch. Wyatt can't fuck with his mind if he is incapacitated by pain. Just one inch, but his hand won't move.

'_You're nothing like him,'_ Bianca had said once, after Chris had asked if she was afraid of him becoming like his brother. It is times like now that Chris hates how right she was. He can slaughter demons, even allies if he has to, but he can't hurt Wyatt while he has no way of fighting back.

Chris looks expectantly at the Twice-Blessed and waits for the jeer, for Wyatt to smirk and tell him how weak he is. Instead the whisper is gentle as it breaks the silence that has enveloped the warehouse. "Chris."

"Shut up." His voice quakes as he peels his fingers off the crystal. "I'm not you."

"I'm not me either, or at least not the me that you know." Wyatt says and his hazel eyes look too blue and caring as he stares at Chris.

Hope flashes through his mind but Chris violently squashes it down and shoves himself away from the cage.

"Wait."

Dammit. He knows better, there is no point in giving attention to his brother's lies. His body stills anyway.

"Do I look like him?" At least Wyatt seems to know how ridiculous that question is, because he elaborates. "I know we're technically the same person, you can't tell me there aren't differences."

"You're not usually one for head games." Chris says with a sigh. He is tired and doesn't want to participate in whatever game his tyrannical brother has cooked up. And yet, his olive-toned eyes are drawn to Wyatt, taking in the details that he hadn't even realized are bothering him. "You cut your hair."

"I can't stand long hair, short curls are bad enough." Wyatt says and shows off a bright grin that Chris hasn't seen since childhood.

_It is not possible._ Chris tells himself firmly, _why am I even entertaining it?_ Maybe the sleepless nights he spent preparing for his journey through time are finally catching up. Exhaustion impairs judgment, doesn't it? Or maybe he's simply the fool that his father has always believed him to be.

Chris shakes his head, trying to clear his thoughts. "Your arm." He says, and then elaborates when Wyatt looks at him funny. "Show me your left arm."

Wyatt obliges, rolling up his sleeve and holding said limb out for inspection. Blue eyes show confusion as Chris glares at the unmarred skin.

There had once been a mark there, a ropey scar that started below Wyatt's elbow and curved around his arm, finally stopping just below his shoulder. It had not been Chris that gave his brother that injury, but he had been there for it. He had seen the blood on the poisoned tip of the scythe when he was rescued from the Twice-Blessed's dungeon. "How did you remove the scar?"

"I've never had a scar on my arm. Except for this one." Wyatt says and points to a small white mark on the side of his wrist. "Some boy stabbed me with a pencil during math class. A bunch of kids saw so I had to let it heal naturally." Chris familiarized himself with every aspect of Wyatt's early life before jumping into the past, trying to find the moment responsible for his brother's darkness. He has never heard this story.

He holds tightly to his disbelief, glowering at Wyatt while his brother only looks serenely back. His grip falters. Somewhere deep down inside him is a little boy who just wants his older brother to like him. It is that long buried piece of his psyche that finally nudges him to move, bending down and grasping the nearest quartz before the rest of him can talk him out of it. The bars shimmer and fade, the glow from the crystals dimming. It takes all of his control not to flee as Wyatt stands. "What did I mess up?" He asks.

"What do you mean?"

Chris silently gathers up the quartz, orbing them to one of the storage boxes in the far side of the warehouse. He turns to his brother after a few minutes. "_if _you are good, then I succeeded. At least at my main goal." He says, emphasizing the 'if'. "Yet the mighty Wyatt Halliwell is here to save the day. So what did I fuck up?" That sounds way too bitter even to his own ears.

"You didn't fuck up." Wyatt protests, "Chris, you died!"

Chris frowns at him. "That doesn't explain why you are here."

"Doesn't it?"

"Why are you here?"

"The wounds that killed you appeared on Chris, my Chris, two days ago." Wyatt says and his expression twists as if some horrid memory is playing through his mind. "I put-," He draws in a shaky breath. "I had to put my baby brother in a coma to keep the poison from getting further into his system."

End of Chapter One

* * *

Next time:

Chris has a plan; it is not terribly elaborate, but then keeping it simple ensures that it will be adaptable if/when the situation changes (as situations tend to do). Wyatt's arrival forces him to make adjustments to the plan, especially when his brother informs him of who the real threat is. Never, in any of the scenarios that Chris's paranoid mind cooked up, has he considered that his quarry might be a paragon of good.

Now, in addition to becoming reacquainted with his brother, he has to figure out how to kill an elder.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

Chris casts a look over his shoulder. "Would you please calm down?"

For an instant Wyatt's anger is quelled by the weary exasperation in the other's expression, but only for an instant. "No, I will not 'calm down!'" He blares. "My nanny was an Elven spy! I think I'm entitled to a freak out." Only two days have passed since he found Chris in the past; it is sort of impressive that they are already bickering the way brothers should.

Olive-toned eyes search the surrounding forest, as if Chris expects to find more elves eavesdropping from the boughs. Then his attention fixes on the older witch-whiteligher and he sighs. "Fine. Have your hissy fit, but do it without so much goddamned noise."

"The entire point of a hissy fit," Wyatt says, pitching his voice louder just to see his brother's glare intensify, "much like a temper tantrum, is to be loud, obnoxious, and – Don't you walk away when I'm yelling at you!"

Chris ignores him, setting a fast pace up the unmarked path while Wyatt tromps along behind. The ground is sloped gently, in a way that makes it difficult to tell how high they have hiked. The surrounding oaks are massive, yet tiny compared to the colossal trees that make up the foundation of the realm where the brothers spent most of the day. Sunlight filters through the canopy, dancing across the mossy ground as wind sings through the branches that are high overhead. The air is warm and sweet, untainted by pollution. The place is so pleasant that Wyatt has to cling tightly to the outrage that is fast slipping away.

Truthfully, he is not too terribly surprised that Nikiana became his nanny only because the Queen of Elfland ordered her to keep tabs on him; she didn't want the position in the first place. Nonetheless, he holds onto his anger, knowing that the moment he lets go his mind will move on to other things. Other questions brought up by their quest into the mystical valley.

_Did I really reduce the Elven Kingdom to ash?_

He knows the truth, even as he shies away from it. He stood as witness while the Elf Queen peered into Chris's memories to determine the legitimacy of his claims. Like her, he had seen the smoking ruins of the treetop cities, seen the bodies that could only be identified by the blackened remains of their intricate armor. He saw it, he smelt it, and he felt that gritty, ash filled wind as it blew across his face. No forged memory could ever be that real.

A deep, shuddering breath gusts from him and he hurries to keep up with his brother. "Are you worried that the elves will take matters into their own hands?" He asks.

Chris doesn't pause his upward trekking but the tilt of his head conveys that he heard the question. "No."

"But…" Wyatt flounders, "I destroyed them."

"It wasn't you."

"You know what I mean!" Normally he is all for differentiating himself from Lord Wyatt, but right now his mind is filled with the atrocities that his Otherself committed. He takes in another shuddering breath. "If I were in their place I wouldn't risk leaving such a threat alive, even if it was only a child."

Chris stops, turns back. "Neither would I. If I didn't believe I could prevent you from turning evil then I would kill you myself." He says and the bluntness of his words makes his brother flinch. He continues, "but neither of us are elves."

"What does that have to do with it?"

Irritation flashes across Chris's face. "You spent more time in magic school than anyone I know. How is it you are so ignorant about the magical races?"

The only response is a defensive scowl that twists across Wyatt's face.

"Elves and children, Wy, elves and children." Chris prompts and shoves a bush aside as he heads uphill once more.

Wyatt frowns and follows. "Elves can't have offspring, not since the curse." He recalls the lecture about a warlock king whose marriage proposal was scorned by an elven maid. That moment cost so much. The warlock's vengeful spell took their tall, graceful forms and reduced them to gnome-like stature. It stole away the ability to procreate, forced them to live out eternity without the joyous laughter of future generations. A horrid thing done for such a petty reason, Wyatt wonders if the reasons behind his Otherself's actions were any less petty.

"They revere youth. Out of all the races the elves are the only ones I can trust not to harm you. At least while you're still a child." Chris's voice carries back to him, filtered through the rustling of the leaves.

Wyatt slows, lets his brother draw farther and farther ahead, and then looks back over the area below. A hint of magic added to the shape of the landscape casts the illusion that the valley is shallow. Even after being down there and seeing it all, he finds it hard to believe that an entire kingdom can fit it what his eyes tell him is a small space.

_How could I destroy such a place?!_ The thought swirls unbidden in his mind, much like the mists that obscure the trees below. Another thought follows: _How could Chris force me to see that?_

Wyatt violently shakes his head, appalled by the unfairness of that thought. Chris hadn't wanted him to come along in the first place. There was a long list of things that Wyatt could have done instead, but he insisted on accompanying his brother. And when the Elf Queen offered to let him look on while she sifted through Chris's mind, to make sure she did no harm, he ignored the pleading look his brother sent his way.

"You do realize that I would like to get out of here today, even though I have no other plans for the evening?" Chris, having realized his brother fell behind, returns down the slope.

"I'm sorry." Wyatt murmurs, talking about more than the hold up.

A moment of tense stillness overtakes them. Then the younger witch-whitelighter dispels it with an impatient shake of his head and prompts. "We should go."

"Yeah." Wyatt agrees, forces his legs to start walking again. _It didn't happen, _He tells himself fiercely. _And it's not going to_. His brother already succeeded in saving the elves, saving the world, and saving Wyatt from committing acts that would no doubt have damned him.

All that is required now is for Wyatt to save Chris. Then maybe the guilt that has been burrowing into his chest will dissipate. The Twice-Blessed quickens his pace, walking beside his brother rather than trailing behind. "Are we going to talk about it?" He asks.

A glance is spared in his direction. "'It' being?"

"Gideon."

"Ah."

"Ah?"

Chris comes to an abrupt halt, refusing to look at his brother as a pinched, contemplative expression crosses his face. "I think we're far enough away now, we can orb without the Elves' magic interfering." He says, and then does so.

"Wow." Wyatt speaks to the empty space that replaces his brother. "That was subtle."

* * *

Chris glares around as he arrives into the warehouse that has become their base of operations; the place seems more dismal with every day that passes. Even with the furniture they picked up from a transfer station, it is still expansive, empty, and lacks any sort of homey feeling.

Crossing to one of the rickety tables, the witch-whitelighter sets about fiddling with the collection of herbs. Potion making is not nearly as soothing as cooking would be, but it is all he has right now. His brain hurts. _Ellyll Dronning_, the Elf Queen, had been as gentle as possible but still it feels like she cart-wheeled around inside his skull. And Wyatt-

His palm slams against the table and Chris appreciates the sting that the impact sends racing up his arm. He breathes in, then out, and then taking up a sprig of pennyroyal he rips off the small green leaves with unnecessary violence. A jangle of orbs announces Wyatt's presence but the younger witch-whitelighter doesn't look up.

"You know, if you change your mind about telling the family then you could prove you're telling the truth the way you did back there." Wyatt says and drops himself into one of the chairs. The chair, no more stable than the table, groans in protest.

"Let them into my head?" Chris scoffs and dumps the handful of pennyroyal leaves into the waiting cauldron. "Wy, I love them, but the Charmed Ones have the finesse of a four-year old with a sledgehammer. I have no desire to spend the rest of my life in a mental hospital."

Wyatt chortles and then frowns. "He was five," he says, "Henry was five when he decided to help build the shed."

Chris is almost positive that Henry had been four, because he clearly remembers their cousin's fifth birthday party. Someone, in remembrance of the sledgehammer event, had gifted him with an enormous blow-up hammer that squeaked whenever he clobbered anyone.

It isn't the first event they have found that almost matches up between the two timelines, like with the others the tiny differences are disconcerting. Some can be chalked up to faulty memories, neither Chris nor Wyatt has perfect recall. The rest…Chris shrugs, he doesn't know why his instincts are insisting that the small details are important.

"Did you like Gideon or something?" Wyatt asks, his chair creaks as he leans back in a seemingly relaxed fashion.

_Back to the task at hand then._ "He was Leo's friend," he replies and adds some powdered pine needles to the mixture that is starting to gargle. For Chris, anyone who is friendly with their father is immediately blacklisted. Gideon is doubly damned because, on top of being Leo's mentor, he is also an Elder. A pompous know-it-all who likes to tell young, impressionable witches that their destiny revolves around death and demons.

Chris clicks his tongue and mentally acknowledges that he should probably work out his issues about the Elders before he goes before them. Or at the very least work on his ability to playact as a subservient pacifist.

Wyatt is still waiting for a full explanation.

"I told you already that I can't deviate from my plans."

"I don't understand why not. Gideon is the one responsible for my—." Wyatt falters for an instant, sits up straight, and then thrusts more words into the air. "He's the one who started me on that path. If we kill him, that's it, I'm good. We don't need all these hidden allies or any of these secretive plans."

A sigh escapes him and he avoids responding as he searches the table, not quite sure what he is looking for until he spots the lilac-colored saffron flowers that he collected yesterday. He plucks three petals out of the bunch, and quietly confesses to his brother. "This whole time travelling thing isn't working out the way I expected it to."

The cauldron burbles as the saffron is added, the liquid inside slowly shifts color. He stirs it, considering his words before he speaks.

"When I wrote the spell to bring me here, I didn't make a reversal. I didn't think I was going to need one. Not-." He raises a hand to silence any interruption from his brother. "Not because I thought I would die. I thought that there would be a turning point, once I saved you. I expected that if I changed the future then my past would change with it. I would automatically be_ when_ I was supposed to be, in that new future with a head full of brand-new, better memories."

The noise that escapes Wyatt is halfway between a whimper and a cry of pity. He opens his mouth, closes it again when Chris waves him silent.

"I never expected an alternate timeline to appear." Chris stops stirring and sets the wooden ladle aside as he turns to face his brother. "What you need to understand Wyatt: the changes I made, the changes I will make, created your past. Any changes you make, or that I make because of your presence here, might create a third timeline… Or they might destabilize time enough that we both get erased from existence. I honestly have no fucking idea of what to expect anymore."

Wyatt has gone pale. He sways backwards, away from Chris's intent gaze. "Holy damn. That's a terrifying thought."

"Now you see." Chris returns to the potion, which has started to develop a reddish-purple tint.

"No, I mean- Fuck! I have to go and think." He launches himself from the chair, pacing with frantic energy. "I'll get us food or something, are you hungry? Why am I asking? You could probably eat an elephant and still be hungry."

Chris raises both eyebrows. "Was that supposed to be another comment about my weight?"

"I can't help it. You're a stick figure, only skinnier, a twig figure. Didn't the others in the resistance bother to feed you?" His expression falters and Chris has the distinct feeling that Wyatt has realized that he probably doesn't want to know the answer. "I'm going to go."

"Kay." Attention goes back to the cauldron. A few moments later, just as he determines that the mix feels like it should have some bay and yarrow leaves added in, Wyatt returns.

"Something just occurred to me."

"What's that?" Chris tries for nonchalance, but his voice sounds stressed. Has Wyatt, in just a few minutes, thought up a solution to the problem that has plagued Chris since his brother's arrival? That doesn't seem fair. He is just as smart as his brother, with the same background in magical lore. It should be him who figures it out.

"I probably should have asked before, but: How have you been paying for our meals?" Wyatt asks.

_Oh, that._ Chris does not squirm under his brother's questing gaze. "I haven't been."

"You haven't?"

He nods. "I orb stuff out of people's cars while they're in the drive through. Only one or two things at a time, so they assume the restaurant messed up."

"But, why?"

Chris is still not squirming, he is simply shifting his weight. "Because I forgot to bring money." He mutters grumpily. "Do you think I like eating cheap food and living in _this_?" he indicates the surrounding warehouse with a wave of his hand. "I was busy gathering up information about which demons the Charmed Ones fought and making sure the resistance could do without me. I didn't even think of it."

A muffled snigger comes from Wyatt's direction as the older brother tightly clamps a hand over his mouth.

"It's not funny."

"Yes." He drops the hand and giggles. "Yes it is."

Chris purses his lips and silently admits, only to himself, that it is a little amusing.

"What about the spell supplies?" Wyatt looks to the table, where there is no lack of herbs and other necessities. "Oh, please tell me you haven't been stealing from magic shops."

"Gods no, I'm not stupid." Chris replies, only faintly insulted that his brother assumes he would do something so suicidal. "Most of the herbs I can find growing in the wild or in public gardens. For the quartz: I went to an abandoned mine in Canada and dug them up myself, couldn't cut them of course, but I found a stoneworker who was willing to do it in trade for a spell."

The Twice-Blessed nods. "Okay, so, we need money." He says. "How about: you finish with whatever you're cooking up, I'll find us funds, and then afterwards we go grocery shopping. Or did you have some other excursion planned for today?"

Having better food won't change his overall plans, little things like that shouldn't disturb the timeline. And he might go crazy if he has to eat another hamburger. Chris nods. "No more excursions tonight, this is for tomorrow."

Wyatt sniffs towards the cauldron. "What is it anyways?"

"Not really sure, it might increase physical energy since it has pine and saffron in it. Though there's yarrow in there as well, so it might turn into some sort of protection potion."

The older witch-whitelighter barely hides a grimace. He refers to what Chris is doing as _unsanctioned_, and claims that it feels different. Chris honestly doesn't understand why. All he is doing is creating potions without a list of ingredients, it is just like when a witch mixes together a brand new potion or brews one up from memory. He would rather trust instincts and guesswork over a leaflet of paper anyways.

"Or, since yarrow is a feminine plant, it might bring out only feminine energies."

He snorts, draws out a ladleful, and starts filling potion bottles. "Yarrow isn't imbued with enough feminine power. I'd have to add willow or linden bark for that to happen." He truly isn't sure why he added yarrow, of all things, to the mixture but his intuition claims it will help. And he needs all the help he can get if he is going to impress Freya.

"Whatever. I'll be back." Wyatt says, then orbs away.

* * *

"I just want it to be absolutely perfect for my little bitty niece."

"Stop touching my belly!"

He has barely a second to recognize the voices before a hand grips his arm and yanks him down one of the isles. He shares a panicked look with Chris, says in a whispered voice, "What the hell are they doing here?"

"Shopping, obviously." Chris snarls back, his voice equally hushed. He swears at Wyatt. "Why did we come to _this _store?!"

Because it is comfortable and familiar. Wyatt scowls at his own stupidity as they hurry to a less populated area of the store, away from the sight of the Charmed Ones. It is familiar because this place is where their family shopped while they were children. In hindsight it was probably an area that they should've avoided.

Forlornness crosses Chris's face as he stares at the cart of groceries they have amassed. "We need to get out of here." He says. Part of his plan, the part he has told to Wyatt, requires him to be a stranger to their family. That means a random encounter in the spice isle is out of the question, the witches would recognize him later.

"No," Wyatt catches his arm before he can orb away. "Look." He raises a hand before his face, drawing forth magic with a silent command. The glamour almost tickles as it settles over his skin. It is not too different from his true appearance. His body stays the same height, but everything about him becomes more angular. Sterner features are framed by straight spikes of hair that shine with a hint of copper and he peers past a new, sharper nose as a dark brown mixes with the natural hazel of his eyes.

He raises his hand again, this time in front of Chris's face.

The hand is batted away. "I can do it myself." The younger witch-whitelighter says. "You always make me look idiotic." Never mind the fact that this version of Wyatt hasn't ever cast a glamour on him. His hair goes dark, not quite black. The olive tone of his eyes lightens, blue sneaking in until they are aqua. Features fill out, losing that desperate twigginess. Three inches of height are shaved off, and the slouch he adopts makes him seem even shorter.

They hardly look like brothers now but Wyatt doesn't let that bother him.

"You said you wanted to get more produce."

"We can afford it?" Chris looks to Wyatt for confirmation. "Then yes." He steers the cart away from the little corner of the store where they hid. Even with magic concealing his true features, Wyatt can tell that the younger witch-whitelighter is anxious.

"I'll grab some bread to go with the rest of the sandwich stuff." He offers, humoring the other's desire to finish shopping and get out of the area quickly. It is as he crosses the dog food isle on the way to the bakery that the words from their earlier conversation resound into the present and smack him squarely on the back of the head.

_Changes that I make because of your presence here._

Suddenly that third possible timeline, that great unknown, looms over him like the Sword of Damocles. Chris wouldn't be in this store if Wyatt hadn't followed him into the past. The anxiousness that Wyatt sensed in his brother seems mild compared to the dread that surges through his own mind. He struggles to control it. Surely this will change nothing, if they pay and leave right away they won't encounter their family, won't affect the future in any way. It is absolutely ridiculous to think that a simple visit to the store could alter anything.

The instant Wyatt fills himself with assurance is also the instant he becomes aware of the presence standing no more than two feet away.

Piper is wearing a blue ruffled top, cream colored trousers, and a pair of flat sandals. Her long hair is down, cascading about her shoulders. She has her hands perched on her hips, a grocery basket hanging from one elbow, and stands with her legs slightly apart. The stance accents the great protrusion of her stomach.

_That's me in there. _Is all Wyatt can think for an second, and then he glimpses the impatience drawn across his mother's face and realizes that she is waiting for him to stand aside so she can reach the bread.

"Sorry." He chokes off the word and shuffles out of the way.

Flight seems the best option, he needs to get away from this woman who will be is mother in little more than two weeks. His legs are being stubborn and stupid, they won't move for him. He can do nothing but stare at Piper.

She waddles, tries to bend and reach a lower shelf, finally resorts to squatting, and bites her lips to keep from swearing as even that doesn't work. Her gaze turns to him and now it is too late to run.

"Do you want me to…?"

"That would be nice, yes." Piper says, her tone filled with the forgivable snappishness of a pregnant woman. She straightens as he reaches for a loaf on the bottom shelf.

He hands it to her and his gaze flicks around for a chance to escape. Where is Phoebe? He definitely heard his aunt earlier but now she is nowhere to be seen. How would a normal person act around a pregnant woman? Should he offer to hold her basket, or would that imply that he thought her incapable?

"It's not going to bite!"

Wyatt's gaze shoots up to his mother's face and he mentally swears at his eyes. _Stop staring at her stomach!_ "I—Sorry!"

"Gah, it's like you've never seen a pregnant lady before."

"Not ever this close. Well, once. My cousin…She threw a book at my face." It had been the Book of Shadows. P.J. had been searching through it to cure the demonic pregnancy she was cursed with. He made the mistake of saying she didn't look too different, which somehow implied that she was fat. After hitting him with the book she spent three hours crying in Phoebe's arms.

"I wonder why." Piper doesn't know that story and takes his words to mean that he acted as awkward around his cousin as he is around her. "You're looking at me like it's going to burst out and gnaw off your leg."

He takes an abrupt step back from her, grimacing. "I could have done without that image in my head." He says. Silently he reassures himself. _I'm just a random stranger who is terrified of baby-filled tummies, how could that possible affect the future of a Charmed One?_ "Now all I can think of is that movie with the aliens."

His mother frowns at him.

"You know: the one with the spider thing that grabbed their face and then the little alien that-," He mimes with his hand, catches sight of Piper's expression, and says, "I'm just going to shut up now."

"Me and my 'little alien' thank you for that."

"I thought you were getting bread." Chris approaches from behind Piper, recognizes her too late, and does a much better job of hiding his reaction than Wyatt. The flash of panic is gone quickly, though the murderous look lingers as he stares at his older brother.

"I was. I am." He reaches over, snags a random loaf off the shelf, and hugs it to his side. "I have. Let's go now."

Piper glances between the two of them and then points at Wyatt while loudly whispering to Chris. "He's scared of pregnant women."

A conspiratorial smile crosses the features of Chris's glamour. Even Wyatt can't detect evidence that he wants to flee from her. "He's even worse around babies." He whispers back.

"Worse? I can't imagine that."

Wyatt makes a noise of protest. "I am standing right here you know."

"Yes, we know." Chris smirks at him. "You're also squishing the bread."

Said bread gets tossed into the cart with the rest of their groceries.

The young witch-whitelighter smiles at the mother that has not birthed him yet. "Pleasure to meet you, Ma'am. I'm Chris. And since I'm sure he forgot his manners, this is Wy-Orin."

"I'm Piper." She clasps his hand, afterwards turning to Wyatt and seeming not to notice Chris's reaction to the contact. "Wyorin?"

"Warren, like a rabbit hole." He says, focusing on acting normal and not letting himself be distracted by the fact that Chris's slouch has disappeared into ramrod straight posture. He shakes her hand, but senses nothing in the touch that could explain his brother's sudden paleness. "I'm sorry about the whole…baby thing."

She shrugs. "Eh, it's fine. It's refreshing to meet someone who doesn't want to stick their hand on my stomach."

"You mean people actually ask to touch it?"

"They don't even ask," The irritation in her voice is, thankfully, not aimed at him. "They just walk up and touch."

A dismayed look crosses his face. He doesn't want anyone touching his mother if she doesn't want to be touched. "But that's space invasion."

"That's what I said!"

"Warren," Chris cuts in. The paleness has faded, but his expression is slightly dazed, confused even. "We do need to go."

Wyatt nods. "Yeah, okay. Nice to meet you Piper and….bye."

They pay quickly, with the funds that the older brother collected. Loaded with bags of food they head outside, past the parking lot and into an alley. With a quick glance around to make sure no one is watching, they orb to the warehouse.

"What just happened in there?" Wyatt demands the instant they materialize.

Setting down the bags of food, Chris looks up. "He felt me." He reads the confusion on his brother's face. "You, him, the baby inside of our mother!"

"How is that possible?"

"When I touched Mom's hand." His own hand runs through his hair, casting off the glamour. "I felt our bond, Wy, I felt it! But all I heard in my head was gibberish. He's aware and was…ecstatic to have someone to talk to even if he has no grasp of language yet."

Wyatt casts off his own glamour and sets about putting the food that needs to remain chilled into the cooler. "That's unexpected."

"I'll say."

"Can you feel our bond now?"

"I…" Chris frowns in concentration.

There is something green and earthy about Chris's aura. Wyatt can only see it sometimes, like now, as his brother mentally stretches outwards. The coloring brightens, strengthens, as it searches for him. Wispy tendrils reach across the short distance between them, curling like vines as they almost reach him, and then jerk away.

Disappointment clouds Chris's expression. "I still can't feel you."

"We'll figure it out." Wyatt says, trying to hide how disturbed he is. _My brother's magic is repelled by me! _It has to be something done by his Otherself, Wyatt knows, but he can't think of anything that would ever make him hurt his brother that way. Except, his Otherself and he aren't the same. Wyatt thinks back to the vision of the destruction of the Elves. They aren't the same at all.

"Yeah. Later though." Chris sifts through the bags, pulling out a box of crackers and tearing it open. "We need to sleep soon. Tomorrow we're going to Valhalla."

"Valkyries? Chris…" He sets his disturbing suspicions aside in favor of more immediate problems. "You can't trust them. They abducted dad."

"Did they?" Chris grin, says, "Good, now I can rest assured that something I do tomorrow will win their support." He ignores Wyatt's appalled look and shovels a handful of crackers into his mouth.

Neither witch-whitelighter consider how that brief instant of telepathic communication between Chris and the unborn version of his older brother might affect the future.

**End of Chapter Two**

* * *

**Next Time:**

Valkyries are like Amazons, they don't listen to non-warriors, especially male non-warriors. Luckily, Chris is prepared to prove himself. He only wishes that Wyatt would stop pestering him about his broken ribs.

Wyatt has decided that his brother is crazy, nuts, as in lacking sanity. And that stupid, unsanctioned potion he drank isn't helping anything.

* * *

**Responses to Reviews: **

First off: I freaking love you all. You inspire me.

**Everydaygirl:** Thank you. I will update when I can….hopefully it is worth the wait.

**Wilko**: In total agreement with you, there is no way Chris showed everything to his family. He always seemed way more resourceful than he got credit for (though his plans did unravel about the time his identity as revealed). I am not sure yet if I'm going to bring the other Chris into the story anytime soon. I want to bring him and Lord Wyatt in….though the plan I have might end up as part of a completely different story.

I hope you enjoyed the shocks I gave Wyatt at the beginning of chapter two. I want him aware of what his Otherself did, at least more than he knew before. It is so much fun to torture characters. I disagree with you about how who Chris was really trying to save. In my head: he convinced himself that it was for the world because he couldn't admit that he still cared for his brother after all that happened.

**sarah:** Glad you liked the beginning. I plan to keep writing both perspectives, mainly because it gives me more to write about. I really want to bring Lord Wyatt in, I very much plan to at least reveal some of his actions, but his actual person might end up in a separate story.

**drcuteangel86:** Intrigued is good! Chris is knowledgeable, though some of it is just intuition and not book learning. I figure if he's been on the run then his book knowledge might be rusty and he has learned to trust his instincts when it comes to magic. A good question to ask: Why do Elders forbid non-whitelighters learning to heal with magic? Why aren't there spells in the Book of Shadows that would allow the Charmed Ones to fix their wounds?

**Shorty22133:** Thank you. Hopefully chapter two has kept you interested. I will update again, hopefully sooner this time, since I have a pretty good idea of what will happen.

**catherine10:** Glad you like it. Yeah, it bugged me that he wasn't shown to prepare for his role in the Charmed Ones' lives.

**Dominus Trinus:** "Prequel, sequel, and rewrite all wrapped in one" Gah, way to put on pressure. Hopefully this chapter meets your expectations. Glad you like the premise for the story.

**nikodark: **Here is more, hope it was worth the wait.

**Guest 1:** Hopefully the shocks in chapter two are worthy.

**Guest 2:** Hope you liked the 'more' that I provided. Chris is good, isn't he, and a little nutty…but that's just from stress. I don't think that the New Chris will have the Old Chris's memories or at least not all of them, mostly because I want the two of them to meet and it would be too weird if the New Chris knew everything already.


End file.
